


What A Way to Go

by prettylittlementirosa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale, Implied Versatile Sterek, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlementirosa/pseuds/prettylittlementirosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So if Derek feels like smashing his head against a wall when Stiles leans back and stretches his arms over his head- his shirt riding up to reveal a line of dark hair going down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans- it’s not really that big of a deal. All it means is that Derek hasn’t seen Stiles in almost a year. He’ll be fine in a few days, a week tops.</p>
<p>Or: Stiles comes back rather experienced after being away at college for a year and Derek takes notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What A Way to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii. This is basically a self-indulgent mess of Stiles wrecking Derek in the best way possible.
> 
> It started with this message/prompt: So I think after that scene with Stiles and Malia in Eichen House we can all agree that sex is the one physical activity Stiles is naturally gifted at so imagine JUST IMAGINE what happens /after/ he goes to college and gets his dick in a bunch of different people. I'm just dying to know what happens when he comes back to Beacon Hills after a year of experimenting with casual sex. Exactly how does Derek benefit from Stiles expanded sexual prowess?
> 
> And it turned into whatever this is. Cause I have no shame about sex and stamina being Stiles' hidden talents.
> 
> Warnings:  
> Minor drug use (marijuana)  
> Light Dom/sub theme (in the form of Stiles telling Derek what he wants him to do and Derek complying; it's not negotiated, just kind of happens)
> 
> I think that's it? If there's anything I missed that you think I should add, let me know!

Stiles has always been distracting. From the irritating arrhythmic beat of his heart to his inability to sit still in any given situation to his tendency to make stupid little noises every time he experiences any kind of emotion whatsoever to the outright pleasure he takes in making certain comments just because he knows they’ll annoy Derek.

He’s distracting. It’s just a fact, one Derek accepted a long time ago.

But what Stiles is doing now is… it’s downright obscene is what it is.

He’s just leaning back in that chair, legs splayed unnecessarily wide, humming in acknowledgement to whatever Scott is saying (Derek has no idea what they’re talking about; he hasn’t heard a word anybody’s said for the last fifteen minutes). He keeps rubbing his chin and were his fingers always so long? Was there always that much hair on his arms? Did they always looks so… strong?

The thing is, objectively speaking, this is probably the least distracting Stiles has ever been. He stopped taking Adderall last summer after he graduated so his heartbeat has evened out considerably. He smells faintly of weed which explains the lack of overt fidgeting. And the only noise his mouth is making is in response to the conversation. He’s barely even bouncing his knee, though truth be told that never really bothered Derek; Stiles might as well be a metronome for how perfectly timed his rhythm is; it’s actually kind of soothing.

The point is this is probably the least distracting Stiles Stilinski has ever been in his entire life and yet, for the life of him, Derek cannot focus on anything else.

He tells himself that it’s just because Stiles has been away at college for a year. Derek just has to give himself time to get used to everything that is _Stiles_ all over again. It’s just the lack of exposure.

It has nothing - _absolutely nothing_ \- to do with the way Stiles’ clothes fit him now- jeans stretching over his open thighs, thread-bare shirt highlighting just how broad his shoulders actually are- or the way he’s looking at his friends from under hooded eyelids or the way his _mhmms_ are all low and throaty.

And it definitely is not because of the smug look on Stiles’ face when he caught Derek watching him drink from that bottle. That did not make Derek’s mouth dry. Not at all.

So if Derek feels like smashing his head against a wall when Stiles leans back and stretches his arms over his head- his shirt riding up to reveal a line of dark hair going down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans- it’s not really that big of a deal. All it means is that Derek hasn’t seen Stiles in almost a year. He’ll be fine in a few days, a week tops.

\---

Derek is not fine. Derek is so far from fine he can’t even _see_ fine anymore. Because Stiles keeps doing these things that are- okay, they’re perfectly innocent on the surface, but Derek knows - _he knows_ \- that Stiles is doing them on purpose.

Like the other day, when the pack went to the park to throw around a frisbee. Frisbee is boring. It’s a safe, non-contact sport. It doesn’t even involve the kind of sportswear that highlights the more attractive parts of the male anatomy. There is absolutely nothing sexual about frisbee.

And yet, Stiles found a way to make it one of the most erotic experiences Derek has ever had outside of an actual sexual encounter.

He wore jeans. Which, okay, fine they were all wearing jeans but Stiles’ hung off his hips just right so that every time he lifted his arms to catch the frisbee (and where did all that coordination come from?) Derek got a glimpse of just how tight his waist is, of the soft and supple sun-kissed skin he’s hiding under his clothes. And the things Stiles’ jeans did for his ass were just unreal.

And that was just his choice in clothing.

Then there was the fact that he found ways to actually _touch_ Derek while playing a non-contact sport, and he made it seem so fucking casual, so innocent. Like by pretending to have terrible spatial awareness- which he actually does but that’s not the point. The point is that he’d turn around and walk right into Derek’s space and then use Derek’s body to steady himself; just put a hand on Derek’s chest, the other on his shoulder, and then walk past him, letting his hands linger, letting his fingers brush over Derek’s torso while he walked away. It’s like he was trying to set every nerve-ending in Derek’s body on fire. And he fucking succeeded.

But the worst part had nothing to do with frisbee. It was the popsicle he bought from the ice cream stand. What kind of adult even eats popsicles? Stiles. That’s who. Because of course he does.

Derek has never seen another person on the planet eat a popsicle the way Stiles does. He started off by licking it from the base to the tip in one single motion, then ran his tongue around the tip, before putting the damn thing in his mouth. And then when it started to melt down his hand and onto his arm, he licked that up too.

He fellated the goddamn popsicle and Derek is pretty sure he heard a soft moan when it hit the back of Stiles’ throat. Derek was so distracted by the whole thing the frisbee almost hit him in the face when Kira threw it to him.

Then there was the day Derek showed up to Scott and Isaac’s place to find Stiles sitting on their couch getting stoned. And he didn’t even turn into one of those obnoxious _Dude what if the color green for me is the color red for you_ people. Or at least get paranoid. Derek would’ve preferred Stiles get paranoid.

Instead he just sat there- legs wide open because it wasn’t bad enough when he did it in jeans, he had to do it in sweats too- and took hits off his pipe until the bowl was cashed. Then he sat there watching _Unsolved Mysteries_ , which Derek wishes could be blamed on the weed, but no, it’s just something both Stiles and Scott do. (Derek will never admit it but he’s found himself absorbed in the stories more than a few times too.)

Stiles was completely coherent the entire time. He made witty comments about the mysteries and  even took a call from his dad to lecture him about his eating habits.

The only effect smoking seemed to have on him, besides making his voice offensively scratchy, was to make him lick his lips and grab his crotch every few minutes. He didn’t even do it discreetly. Derek realizes that it’s completely unrealistic to expect Stiles to do anything discreetly but jesus christ, did he have to exhale so lewdly every time he grabbed a handful of his junk?

The worst thing Stiles has been doing, though, is the way he keeps looking Derek up and down like he’s assessing him, like he’s making a game-plan in his head for how he’s going to take Derek apart. His eyes rove over Derek while he drowns him in his aura of self-satisfaction.

And Derek- well, honestly, Derek just wants to find out how Stiles is going to wreck him already.

He’s getting impatient waiting for Stiles to make his move when _finally_ Stiles stays behind at the loft one night after the rest of the pack leaves. Stiles is sitting on the couch with one arm slung loosely over the back, his legs wide open just like always.

He tilts his head to the side watching Derek walk around the loft tidying things up, and, casual as ever, says, “I bet you hardly ever get to bottom.”

Derek has been waiting for what feels like forever now for Stiles to finally do _something_ so the forwardness of his statement doesn’t even register. He just automatically responds, “Who says I want to bottom?”

Stiles raises his eyebrows in amusement, smirks at him like he knows exactly how much Derek loves having a cock inside him. 

Derek rolls his eyes because what else is he supposed to do? He’s not about to tell Stiles that he’s right, that people always just assume he’s going to top them. He’s sure as hell not about to tell him just how many times he’s jerked off in the past week imagining what Stiles’ long fingers would feel like opening him up.

Stiles somehow manages to look even more self-satisfied at that, and with a completely straight face, says, “Come here.”

His voice is low and authoritative. Derek thought Stiles was allergic to all forms of authority but apparently the exception is when he’s the one in charge. It sends a chill down Derek’s spine. Still, he’s not about to give in to Stiles that easily. That’s not how their dynamic works.

He raises his eyebrows at Stiles in defiance, daring him to try and tell him what to do.

Stiles doesn’t take the bait. All he does is move his eyes pointedly from Derek to the space directly in front of him- between the couch and the coffee table- then back up to Derek, showing him exactly where he wants him to stand.

Derek swallows. Fuck their dynamic. He’s already getting hard and the way Stiles is looking at him, waiting for him to do as he’s told, is making Derek’s skin itch. He walks over and stands in the space Stiles indicated.

“Take off your shirt,” Stiles says, like he has no doubt Derek is going to do exactly what he tells him to.

And Derek does- pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor a couple of feet away, then waits in anticipation for Stiles’ next command.

Stiles lets his eyes wander over Derek’s torso and Derek would feel naked, feel exposed, except Stiles’ gaze isn’t scrutinizing. It’s admiring. Then, he says, “Pants.”

Derek’s unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down before his brain can even fully register what Stiles is asking him to do and keep himself from looking too eager. He pushes his pants down to the floor, then steps out of them. He’s already tenting his boxer-briefs. There’s really no point in pretending he isn’t incredibly turned on by the commanding tone of Stiles’ voice.

Stiles hums in approval at what Derek can only assume is the massive erection that he’s eye level with. He stares up at Derek for what feels like forever, like he’s daring Derek to make a move without his permission, but Derek has every intention of being good. He’s not going to give in to the urge to get a hand around himself, no matter how badly he wants to. He wants Stiles to tell him what to do next more.

Finally, Stiles tells him to take his remaining item of clothing off. Derek complies without hesitation, pre-come already beading at the tip of his dick.

“Uncut,” Stiles notes, appreciative, taking Derek in with his eyes. “Show me how it looks in your hand.”

Derek gets a hand around himself, right at the base, but he doesn’t do anything else, just waits for Stiles’ instruction.

Stiles licks his lips and tells him to start stroking himself. Derek complies, working his hand up and down slowly, swiping his thumb over the head every few strokes.

“Fuck, your cock’s beautiful,” Stiles says, reverent. He’s staring at where Derek’s slowly jerking himself. His pupils are completely blown, his mouth is hanging open, and he reeks of arousal, but he’s perfectly composed, otherwise.

“I bet you taste good,” he says. He’s licking his lips again and god Derek wants those lips around his cock.

Derek nods and Stiles sits up straight, takes his arm off the back of the couch for the first time, tells Derek to stop touching himself.

Derek drops his hand to his side and watches as Stiles pulls his shirt off. He really has filled out. His arms are even more defined than the thin henleys he’s been wearing would suggest. They look strong, strong enough to hold Derek down if he doesn’t use any supernatural strength. The thought makes Derek’s mouth water.

Stiles takes Derek’s cock the same way he took the popsicle- licks a line up the underside, circles his tongue around the tip, then takes him into his mouth. Derek can’t even find it in him to be mad at Stiles for trying to antagonize him during a game of frisbee because it feels so unbelievably good.

Stiles knows exactly what he’s doing- starts with his hand wrapped around the base of Derek’s cock and works it up and down in time with his bobbing head. He hollows out his cheeks, guides Derek’s hand to cup one, then moves Derek’s hand down to his throat and takes him down just the once. He moans around Derek’s cock when it’s sitting at just the right place on his tongue, hitting the back of his throat so that it sends a wave of intense vibrations right to Derek’s balls, making him keen.

Stiles’ technique is as close to perfect as Derek’s ever experienced but the thing that really gets him is how much Stiles is enjoying this. It’s not a show. He’s not batting his eyelashes up at Derek the way they do in porn. He’s not moaning obnoxiously to make Derek think he likes this more than he does.

No. His eyelids keep fluttering shut like he’s in fucking heaven and he keeps groaning at uneven intervals like it’s being pulled out of him against his will, like he can’t keep it in, like Derek is the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’s even dropped off the couch and onto his knees to get a better angle, to get more of Derek. It’s taking all of Derek’s strength not to fist his hands in Stiles’ hair and just fuck his pretty little mouth.

Stiles dips down and takes one of Derek’s balls in his mouth, sucks on it, then asks, “You gonna come for me, Derek?”

Derek swallows. Stiles’ mouth is swollen, his lips are red and shiny with spit and pre-come. Derek wants to come in his mouth, on his face, across his chest. He wants to cover Stiles in him. But he waits for Stiles to tell him what to do.

Stiles smiles, knowing. “You’re gonna let me get my mouth back on you,” he says, stroking Derek and licking his lips, like he’s hungry for it. “And then you’re going to come in my mouth.”

Derek can’t help the moan that escapes. Only Stiles could be this bossy while he’s on his knees.

Derek nods and Stiles takes him all the way down, grabs two handfuls of his ass and starts bobbing his head. Derek’s coming down his throat within seconds, his entire body shuddering at the intensity of the pleasure coursing through him.

Stiles pulls off, laving at the head one last time, then licks a drop of come from the corner of his mouth, and moves back to sit on the couch. It’s somehow the single hottest thing Derek has ever seen in his life.

Derek collapses on the couch next to Stiles, who still has his jeans on. He doesn’t think Stiles has even palmed himself but there’s an obvious bulge in his pants, and the scent of arousal billowing off of him is overwhelming.

“Are you-” Derek pants out, gesturing at Stiles’ crotch. He’s not even sure what he’s asking- his blood hasn’t made it all the way back to his brain yet- but he wants to make sure he’s not the only one getting off tonight.

Stiles has his phone out now and he’s scrolling through what looks like a text, like he didn’t just give the world’s best blow job, like he’s completely oblivious to his dick straining against his jeans. Derek’s not sure how he’s even doing it because it’s the only thing he can pay any attention to.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Stiles says, matter-of-fact, setting his phone on the coffee table in front of them. “When you’re ready, I’m gonna take you to your bed and get my fingers in that ass. Then, I’m gonna fuck your brains out.”

And jesus christ, Derek feels like a hormonal fifteen year old all over again. His dick is already making a valiant effort to get hard again and the unapologetic smirk on Stiles’ face says he knows exactly how bad Derek wants him.

He stands up, holds a hand out to Derek and helps pull him to his feet; then says, “After you,” like he has any manners whatsoever, like he’s not a bossy little shit who’s absolutely wrecking Derek right now.

Derek leads the way to the bed, stopping only to get out a bottle of lube and a condom. Stiles has him lay down on his back then strips out of his jeans and underwear with more grace than Derek ever thought he was capable of. He wraps a hand around his cock for the first time all night and somehow _Derek_ is the one to fucking whimper. Suddenly he understands why Stiles is always grabbing himself. His cock is perfect and Stiles should always be touching himself, except for when he’s touching Derek, which should probably also be all the time.

Stiles blinks up at him with a calculated grin, then gives it a few tugs, and Derek’s mouth is fucking watering. He wants Stiles in him right now.

Stiles climbs onto the bed, pushes Derek’s legs apart with his knees, then settles in between them, leaning back on his heals. He runs his hands up and down Derek’s thighs while he looks at him like he’s trying to figure out how he wants to do this. His dick is still hard and now it’s leaking and Derek wants to tell him just to shove it in already because holy shit does he want to find out what Stiles can do with those hips.

He also wants to find out what Stiles can do with those fingers though so he doesn’t say anything, just watches as Stiles leans down and presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh, then mouths his way up to Derek’s hip, up his stomach, his chest, bites the soft flesh on his neck making Derek keen, then kisses him. It’s firm but controlled, wet but not sloppy. He swipes his tongue into Derek’s mouth, nibbles on his bottom lip, and Derek is completely lost in it, his hands coming up to clutch at Stiles’ shoulders, his hips rocking unconsciously.

Stiles smiles against his mouth, then there’s a finger circling his hole and when did Stiles even get the lube open, let alone on his fingers?

Stiles opens him up with expert precision, his fingers pushing in and stretching Derek just enough to ache without actually being painful. It doesn’t take him long to find Derek’s prostate and when he does, he exploits it shamelessly, dragging his fingers across it then pulling them out completely before pushing back in and scissoring them.

Derek’s entire body is on fire with need and want and he’s _trembling_. He doesn’t think anybody’s reduced him to this kind of neediness since he was a teenager. He’s pushing down onto Stiles’ fingers, trying to get more, and Stiles isn’t telling him to stop. He’s still telling Derek what he wants him to do- _breathe for me, hands off_ \- but he’s not stopping him from grinding down.

Stiles has him whimpering and he’s doing it without even looking. He’s still propped over Derek on one elbow, the other hand reaching down between them, teasing Derek mercilessly, and he’s kissing Derek, sucking bruises that’ll fade just as quickly as they appeared into his neck, murmuring things like _god you like that don’t you, fuck you open right up for me_ into his ear.

Then he’s pulling back, rolling a condom on with practiced ease, and lining back up with Derek. He pushes in slowly and they both gasp. When he bottoms out, he stays there, waiting for Derek to adjust. It’s the most restraint Derek has ever seen him display and it’s the first time he doesn’t want him to, he wants him to fucking move.

Derek grinds down, trying to get friction and Stiles laughs, low and throaty, says, “Impatient,” against Derek’s mouth, then kisses him and slowly starts to roll his hips.

It’s- it’s too much and not enough because Stiles is still teasing Derek, just leisurely thrusting in and out, with that same perfect fucking metronome rhythm he bounces his knee with and he’s circling his hips just enough to keep skirting over Derek’s prostate while he thrusts and Derek is fucking _wrecked_. He can’t help it when he starts whimpering. He needs more. He needs _something_.

Stiles shifts all his weight to one arm- still maintaing that infuriatingly slow but perfectly steady rhythm- and runs a hand up and down Derek’s thigh, soothing.

“What do you want?” he rasps into Derek’s ear, eliciting a shudder and a whine.

“More,” is all Derek manages to croak out.

“You want me to fuck you harder?” Stiles asks, mouthing at the spot right below Derek’s ear, completely composed.

Derek nods, then groans in pleasure as Stiles shifts to his knees, brushing right over his prostate. Stiles pulls out and tells Derek to get on his hands and knees. Derek complies and then Stiles is pushing back in, his hands squeezing Derek’s ass and saying, “Fuck, Derek, your ass is perfect. Holy shit.”

Then Stiles is grabbing Derek’s hips and driving into him hard and relentless, the filthy sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Derek buries his face in his arm and tries to concentrate on the guttural noises that are finally coming out of Stiles too.

His pace is relentless, not even letting up when he reaches around to stroke Derek in time to his thrusts. The pleasure that’s been building low in Derek’s stomach explodes throughout his body and he’s spilling over Stiles’ hand in no time at all.

Stiles is only seconds behind. He comes with an impressive string of curse words tumbling out of his mouth, then collapses on the bed next to Derek.

They lay there panting for minutes, trying to catch their breath. Derek watches Stiles’ chest rise and fall rapidly, watches beads of sweat slide down his skin. Stiles is on his back, both arms thrown above his head, and his eyes are closed but he’s smiling- grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Stiles says eventually, sounding more like the kid Derek met in the preserve and less like the guy that just set the bar upon which all of his future sexual partners will be measured. “But tomorrow, I’m gonna ride you.”

So maybe there won’t be any future sexual partners. Stiles is going to be the death of him but what a way to go.

They spend the rest of the summer fucking whenever they can- blow jobs in the car on the way to meet up with the rest of the pack; lazily rutting against each other in bed on the mornings after Stiles has stayed over; hand jobs in the shower; Derek learning just how loud and needy Stiles can be when Derek gets his tongue in his ass; Stiles showing Derek every little thing he learned while he was away at college and sometimes using that authoritative voice that goes straight to Derek’s dick while doing it.

Derek’s pretty sure that by the end of the summer he’s had sex in every position possible, on every surface of his loft, and Stiles has helped him discover at least four new kinks he did not know he had. He also amasses an impressive collection of sex toys- everything from dildos and vibrators to cock rings and anal beads.

But they also get close in other ways too. Stiles is a lot more likely to open up about the things he usually pushes down when he’s sleepy and sex-happy. And it’s surprisingly easy for Derek to tell him the things he never tells anyone else when Stiles’ fingers are carding through his hair or one of his strong hands is rubbing soothing circles on Derek’s back.

When the summer’s over and Stiles goes back to college, Derek is prepared for that to be the end of it but Stiles has other plans apparently. He sends Derek filthy texts and even filthier pictures. He calls Derek and moans down the line while he instructs Derek on what he wants him to do to himself. He skypes him when his roommate is out and makes Derek watch him get himself off, his head thrown back, throat exposed, come painting his chest and stomach.

Derek ends up having to upgrade his plan because of all the minutes and data he uses talking to Stiles, and surprisingly, only half of it is spent getting off. It turns out Derek likes figuring out the train of thought between Stiles’ seemingly nonsensical string of text messages and he likes when Stiles calls him to complain about “the asshole with the fake British accent” in his Folklore and Sexuality class.

Plus, arguing with Stiles has always been one of Derek’s favorite past times.

They never discuss exclusivity and Derek knows that Stiles is still sleeping with other people but it’s okay. Stiles is young and should experience everything life has to offer and, really, Derek isn’t particularly worried about who Stiles is going to end up settling down with.

So two years later on the last day of summer before Stiles goes back to start his senior year of college, in the middle of an argument about whether or not the house Derek is building should have Dutch doors, Derek isn’t all that surprised when Stiles says, “I love you, Derek, but I am not tripping over half a door for the rest of my life,” like they talk about spending their lives together all the time, like the house is just as much Stiles’ as it is Derek’s, like it isn’t the first time either of them has used the L-word.

When Derek’s only response is to smile and start kissing him, Stiles says, “I’m serious,” against his mouth. “You will not… Derek… you will not make me Chandler Bing… Derek… mmmph.”

Derek doesn’t get the Dutch doors but he does get to marry his best friend and have earth-shattering sex for the rest of his life. It’s worth it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://pickasalvatore.tumblr.com/)


End file.
